Prise Au Piége
by Perriott
Summary: Modern day. Christine Daaé barely survived a house fire. She now attempts to start on living a normal life again, with the help of a mysterious man named Erik.
1. Moments Of Gold

**A/N: **Hello! This is my attempt at a dark, modern day POTO fanfic. This fic features a very much lethal Erik, and a more mature Christine. This is un-beta'd so I apologize for typos. Reviews and constructive criticism are very much welcome!

[-]

_"Robert! Dad!"_

_Another wave of fire blazes through the walls, incinerating every piece of furniture in its path. Christine tried her best to cover her nose, but every breath took her a step closer to unconsciousness. "Robert! Dad! Where are you?" she yelled again._

_The house—their house was on fire._

_"Christine! It's me! Dad's unconscious; you have to help me!" Robert replied, trudging along his father's motionless body. Christine could see her older brother's silhouette not far from her, and rushed toward him. The two tried to lift the limp body out the door, but a long piece of wood dropped from the second floor, effectively barricading their exit._

_"Dad! Please! Wake up!" Christine and Robert screamed those words like a mantra, until clouds of black smoke invaded their eyes. Christine could feel her own heartbeat slowing down, along with the oxygen in her lungs rushing out. "Rob—Robert," the young woman mustered, "I'm—I can't..."_

_"Don't do this, Christine! You need to stay awake!" Robert shot back, panic coating his voice. She swore she heard more words from him, but they all became muffled as her eyes drooped down._

_And then nothing._

[-]

"Christine? Christine!"

I jerked my head up and turned my attention to Meg. "Sorry, I'm zoning out again, aren't I?" I whispered, blushing slightly. Meg shook her head and sighed, "I don't mean to bust your balls or anything, but if you keep on having these weird lapses in class, I'm gonna run out of excuses to say to our professor."

I mumbled an apology to Meg and let my eyes wander across my copy of Macbeth; and underneath the booklet my old index card peaked out. I haven't used it in months. Not since my last therapy session, anyways. I took it out and read it silently.

'My name is Christine Daaé. I am twenty years old. I am a senior at Juilliard. I am on scholarship. I have a father, Gustave Daaé. He is currently in a coma. I had a mother, Evangeline Nilsson-Daaé. She died of tuberculosis when I was five years old. I had an older brother, Robert Daaé. He died six months ago, because of our house fire. I have a best friend, and her name is Meg Giry. Her mother, Antoinette Giry, takes care of me.'

My then-therapist, Philippe De Chagny, made me read that index card once a day. Up until now, I still have no idea why he made me do it. But for some odd reason, it helped in keeping me sane after what happened.

Ever since that fire, I was scared that my soul would just float away from my body, leaving my mind and body in reality. It seems weird, I know. But that's what trauma does to you. Exactly two weeks after the incident, Mrs. Giry sent me to Philippe De Chagny's office. She said that it would help. And it did. For a while.

I visited Philippe's office thrice a week for about three months; until I felt substantially stronger, and mentally competent enough to go back to college. Philippe insisted that I should continue my visits, but I felt more and more of a burden towards him. I kept on telling him the same things, and he would reply with the same things as well. It became a tiresome routine more than a therapy session. 'That's because you're not fully opening up to me.' Philippe once said. He was right—but God forbid I would tell him the truth; why I'm always so somber, so frail. No one could ever know.

After I ended my visits to Dr. Philippe, Meg always tried her best to cheer me up. We would go out and watch movies, have spa days, all those typical girlfriend-bonding things. That went on for another month or so, and then she met Andrew Yussuf. The moment she laid eyes on him, she couldn't get enough of him. Not a week passed and they were already dating. I was happy for her, of course, but our bonding time became a lot less frequent after that.

A few more weeks passed, and there I was in class, studying my lines for Macbeth. I had to land a leading role, of course. I was absent for a little over a month; and in Juilliard, just because your brother died and your father fell into a coma doesn't mean that you can waste your student absences on crying and going to therapy. But I had cinched the role of Lady Macbeth after two minutes into reading her lines.

My forté wasn't acting, per se, but more in singing. But the package I received from my scholarship included an acting course, so why not?

Still, I've always wanted to travel around the world, singing in various opera houses. My dreams were a little far-fetched, but not even a mentally scarring event could stomp my hopes. Also, my dad promised me that he would live long enough to see me sing at an opera in London, or maybe even Paris. Those were the types of dreams that I would never give up on. Even in my pitiful state of disposition.

Suddenly, my thoughts were interrupted when our professor ended the class.

"We'll start on-stage rehearsals tomorrow at noon, yes? I need a perfect attendance tomorrow, especially from Mr. Weaver and Ms. Daaé."

[-]

As I walked towards the Blue Café, I heard Meg walk behind me. "Christine!"

When she caught up, she handed me a white envelope. Curious, I tore it open and pulled out its contents. "Three tickets to Fred Gilderbaum's Laughtery?" I asked.

"A stand-up comedy show! C'mon, you'll love it. I was thinking that you, me, and Andrew could go together. Have some laughs, booze around."

My stomach swirled at the thought of being in a dusky, cigarette-filled bar for hours. I shook my head and chuckled, "I think I'm gonna pass."

Meg frowned, "Christine! Please? For your best friend in the entire world?" she flashed me a thousand-watt smile. I giggled at the sight of it, but my decision was made. "I know you mean well, Meg. It's just that I feel uncomfortable always having to tag along with you and Andrew. I look like a third wheel, and that's the last look I want people to see." I handed the envelope back to her and heard her sigh. "All right then, Christine. Next time though, I promise it'll be just the two of us. Deal?"

"Deal." I reply with a genuine smile. Meg left with a quick blow of a kiss, and I proceeded inside my favorite café.

[-]

"Winter Melon Tea for one Christine?"

I handed over my receipt to the barista and took my drink, letting myself unwind for a while. I mindlessly looked at the colorful posters and designs inside the café, smiling at the feeling of calmness that flowed through me. I stared at the pictures for what seemed like hours, until I heard my phone beep. I took it out of my bag, wondering what it was for.

'4:30 PM—VISIT HIM.'

I looked at the clock on the wall. 4:12 PM.

The moment I saw the reminder, my mind snapped back into reality. Out of all the things I hate, next to _him_, was that feeling. The feeling of weariness filling my brain and soul, as if I was beginning to sober up from a fantasy and realize that I was living in reality—painful reality.

I ran outside and hopped on my bike, roughly strapping on my helmet. If I was late, he would punish me. I couldn't afford to be late. I zoom past the parking lot and head for Walter Boulevard—a shortcut I learned whenever I visited Philippe. I turned left, skated my way past an abandoned junk yard, and then another left.

I parked my bike on my usual spot and faced the run-down, abandoned-looking, two-story building in front of me. It looked like a cross between an abandoned clinic and a tornado-swept apartment. But you wouldn't see anything past the graffiti and the peeling paint. Without a moment's hesitation, I stepped inside the creaking metal door.

I head over to the second floor, where he lives.

[-]

From the outside, the whole building—heck, the whole block seems inhabitable, but because of the architect he is, he made this ghost house his domain. Dark wood floors, grey to black marble decorations; it was quite dusty, since I assumed he never stepped foot outside of his bedroom, but it was... decent.

"My Christine!" his voice boomed. "I appreciate your punctuality, my love."

He always gave me the weirdest remarks.

"Thank you, Erik." I replied.

I stood there in the middle of his living room; and his voice was everywhere. Wherever I turned or went, his voice would always seem peculiarly close, yet so distant at the same time.

"You look beautiful today." he added. I blushed. I inwardly cursed myself for falling for it.

"Thank you, Erik." I said again.

"You seem so nervous, my pet. Have I done anything to make you act this way?"

This is what I hate the most about him. He knows. He knows why I'm like this. It's because of him. He just likes to tease me, to make me feel even more nervous.

"I'm not nervous. Just hungry. I haven't eaten all day."

I sensed his smirk. Even though I couldn't see him—even though I kept my eyes glued to my shoes, I could sense his smirk. I wanted to slap that goddamn smirk off of his face.

That is, if he had one.

I only saw his face once, I think. I was too weak to remember. But the aftermath; that was something I would never forget.

"It pains me to see you like this, my pet. Unfortunately, your poor Erik hasn't anything to feed you. Perhaps you should eat with Antoinette, yes?"

I kept myself silent.

"This is a bad time, isn't it, my dear? You have a play—Macbeth, and you mustn't have any distractions. Am I correct?"

"Yes. I mustn't have any distractions. I shouldn't waste my time." I said to him. I heard him click his tongue—he does that when he's about to say something insulting or hurtful.

But he says nothing.

"Very well then, Christine. As much as I hate to cut our daily meetings short, I shall see you tomorrow."

Ironic. He always says that, yet he doesn't let me 'see' him. He's just a voice. He always has been. I tell myself that maybe I'm just crazy; maybe his voice was just make-believe. I desperately wanted to believe that, too, because being crazy was definitely much easier than being a part of his world.

Without another word, I exit the building and drive as fast as I can home; wanting to feel the comfort the Girys' home.

[-]

**A/N:** Who is Erik in Christine's life? Why does he scare the living bacon out of her? Why does Christine hate him with every fibre of her being? What is this sham of a mystery story? Why am I asking too many questions? Are these questions confusing _you_? Bloody geezers, they confuse me. Anyways, more will be explained in the following chapters. All the dirty little secrets will be uncovered bit by bit, so I hope you'll stick around to find out!


	2. Two Brothers

**A/N:** Thank you so, so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows! You guys make me keep on going. Without further ado, here is chapter two. Read, enjoy and review!

[-]

When I got home, I saw Mama Giry placing plates on the dinner table, and I offered to help.

"How was your day?" Mama asked. I shrugged, not really wanting to talk about it. "Fine. Boring, as usual. When is Meg coming home?" I asked. Mama let out a sigh, as if she knew the answer—and was disappointed in it. "She'll be home in time for dinner," I said to assure her, "I know I wouldn't miss Pasta Night for anything."

Mama smiled softly at me, "Christine, I'm so proud of you, _mon petit_. You've grown into such a fine young lady."

I smiled in return and placed another plate on the table. "Meg also turned out to be a fine young lady." I replied. Mama gave me an odd look for changing topics, but it was true; if anything, Meg had turned out a lot better than I did. She never got into drugs or any bad business of that kind, other than her long list of boyfriends (which, now that I thought about it, needed to be taken into consideration). She's all right.

"Oh, Meg." Mama exasperated. "That girl is slowly drifting away from me. One of these days, I'll wake up to her eloping with some humdrum school boy." I couldn't tell if she was joking, but the sadness in her voice was evident enough. "Meg wouldn't do that, Mama. She's smart; very smart."

"I hope so, Christine. I can't help but feel so heartbroken and so old at the same time." Mama said with a chuckle.

"You could always go on a vacation, Mama. Make yourself feel young again." I suggested, just as Meg clambered through the door.

"I'm hoooooooooome!" Meg sang. "I'm ready for Pasta Night!"

I turned to Mama, "I told you so!" She shot me a playful glare and I laughed, "Meg! You're just in time for Pasta Night!"

"Good! Oh, and Mama? Is it okay if you prepare a couple more plates? I have some visitors over!"

"Visitors?" Mama asked cautiously.

"Yeah! I ran into Philippe today at the book store, you know, Christine's therapist? And he's brought his brother with him!"

I saw Meg run down the stairs and into the dining room, noticing that she changed into something more comfortable than those tight jeans she wore the whole day. "The Cadillac by the driveway is Philippe's. His brother Raoul just arrived from England a couple of days ago. He's here to study Law or Medicine or something like that. That's cool with you guys though, right?"

I nodded, seeing no real problem (other than the fact that Philippe's probably going to ask me how I've been doing). I honestly hated small talk, but it wasn't my place to reject them. Besides, they were already here, so what good would come of it if I acted like a brat and gave him the cold shoulder the entire evening? Mama expressed her contempt as well, but approved nonetheless.

The two brothers entered the house, and Mama greeted them with a warm welcome. I childishly hid in the kitchen and placed the pot filled with pasta into a serving bowl. "Dinner's ready, gentlemen. I hope you two are fond of pasta." I heard Mama say. As I placed the bowl at the center of the table, I slightly bowed my head and sat myself down on the far end of the table.

"Earth to Christine?" Meg said. I turned my head up and smiled at the two. Philippe hadn't changed a bit, and Raoul, well, certainly resembled his brother.

Dare I say it...? He was good-looking. I stood up to shake his hand and coincidentally, he sat beside me after we finished introductions.

[-]

"So, Raoul," Meg began, "Philippe told me that you took a year off of college to travel. Why is that?"

"I wanted to take a break from bar exams and black briefcases." Raoul replied with a chuckle. "One day, I figured that I've had enough—and I flew away to England for a while."

"It took my parents and I a week to realize that he was gone." Philippe said, laughing at himself. The rest of us laughed as well. "Once our parents found out, they went berserk. I wasn't too surprised though; he's always been a little rebel."

How ironic. "A little rebel and you're studying Law?" I asked, a little amused by it.

After that, I kept myself silent for the most part of the dinner, except for when Philippe asked me questions about Juilliard and other bits of my personal life. I tried to keep all my answers as generic as possible, worried that he might make it into a dinner conversation.

Still, I couldn't help but notice the looks that Raoul gave me throughout the night.

[-]

I was hoping that Philippe and Raoul would leave right after dinner, but Meg insisted for dessert wine. Mama excused herself to bed after the first glass, then we all settled by the patio. All of a sudden I found myself in the middle of a conversation about me.

"You guys, Christine is a superb soprano." Meg boasted, taking a sip of her red wine. I blushed (for what was the umpteenth time) and shook my head. "Meg..." I gushed, "I'm not."

"Who's your teacher?" Raoul asked. I went rigid; I almost forgot about _him_, and suddenly some stranger brings him up. "I... it's a secret." I replied, cheekily. Curiosity coated his voice, and he managed to ask me again. "Is he famous or something?"

"Don't get your hopes up, Raoul," Meg intervened, "Christine keeps her mouth shut whenever it's about her singing lessons." I glued my eyes to my wine glass and pursed my lips, feeling uncomfortable as ever. "All I know is, he's strict and he has Christine on a tight leash." Meg added.

"Sounds like a clingy boyfriend more than a teacher." Philippe shot playfully. The three of them laughed. "Lighten up, Christine! We were just joking." Meg said, nudging my arm.

Suddenly, my ears felt hot. It took me a while to realize that I was getting a little irritated about the way they were talking about Eri—_him_. "He's not the type of person who's used to small talk. He's secretive. You can't blame him for wanting privacy and space, right?" I snapped, accidentally. The jolly faces had disappeared and what remained were shocked and confused expressions. I placed my wine glass down and excused myself, retreating in my room.

[-]

I sat on my bed, like a furious child calming down from a tantrum. I didn't know why hearing people talk to him like that made me so angry. I hadn't realized that the simplest subjects would set me right off until I felt my ears started to feel hot. I shouldn't be angry. I shouldn't feel for _him_. I shouldn't defend _him_. I hate _him_.

It was a little over an hour that I sat there thinking, when I heard someone knock.

"Go away, Meg." I said, covering my head with a pillow.

"It's me, Raoul."

I shot up from my bed and opened the door, a little surprised that he was there. He hesitantly took a step inside. I chewed my bottom lip and watched him, waiting for his next move. "I want to apologize, for what I said earlier. I didn't mean to pry. I was just—"

"Curious?" I finished for him. He nodded. "It's fine. If anything, it's my fault. I shouldn't have overreacted."

"I didn't want to leave you with a bad first impression, is all. I'm not as nosy as my brother." Raoul mused. I smiled at that, "Philippe's a therapist; he's paid to be nosy."

The two of us laughed, as if the air was clear again.

"Can we start over? I mean, we haven't been properly introduced yet. Raoul De Chagny."

He held out his hand and I shook it, "Christine Daaé."

"Daaé? You're Swedish?" I furrowed my eyebrows and nodded, "I am. How'd you know?"

Raoul shrugged, "I've read a couple Swedish books back in high school. Is that your dad?" he asked, pointing at the picture frame by my nightstand. I nodded. "Yeah. That's my dad, me, and my older brother."

"Where are they now?"

I was a little shocked by his bluntness, "I—uhm, they're..." I uttered, then I saw his slightly terror-stricken face, "Christine, I'm sorry—"

"No, no. Don't apologize. I guess Philippe didn't tell you." Raoul shook his head and shoved his hands in his pockets. "There was a fire back in our home in San Francisco six months ago. My brother, Robert, was announced dead on arrival at the hospital and my dad—he fell into a coma." I explained. "You probably didn't want to hear that." I added, clearing my throat.

"No, it's just—that was rude of me to ask something like that. I... I'm screwing this up, aren't I?"

I shook my head. "Of course not. I mean, Philippe's done worse, but..." I trailed off, trying to keep the mood light. Raoul smiled again, and it made me feel... nice.

We talked for what seemed like hours; from movies, to books, to television, and music. His favorite movie is a tie between _The Godfather_ or _Shawshank Redemption_, mine is (and always will be) _Mamma Mia!_—despite what other critics say. His favorite book is _Catcher In The Rye_, mine is _Great Expectations_. He said that he'll be just fine with watching _Breaking Bad_ and _Game of Thrones_ for the rest of his life, and I couldn't agree more.

Music, however, he doesn't care for it much. I was a little unnerved by it, seeing as that music meant everything to me. My father was a violinist, my mother was a soprano herself.

"Still, I'd love to hear you sing someday." Raoul offered.

"I'm not sure you'd like opera." I said. "Meg, as much as she loves me, can't stand it."

"Well, I haven't been to an opera before. Maybe I'll enjoy it. There's a first time for everything, right?"

Oddly, I agreed.

[-]

Finally, it was time for the two brothers to leave.

"It's getting late, and if I don't get Raoul to Vivianne soon, she'll get angry again." Philippe stated, slipping into his jacket. I felt my heart pound heavily as I heard the name 'Vivianne'.

"Who's Vivianne?" I asked.

"Oh, she's our mother." Raoul answered.

"Maybe I should start calling Mama 'Antoinette'." Meg mused, while we both waved them goodbye as they drove away.

My smile disappeared when I saw a pair of fiery orbs shining from behind a tree across the street. Every muscle in my body tensed, and I froze.

"Christine, I'm gonna go to bed. You coming? Christine?"

Meg grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me in the house. "Christine," Meg began, "are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I think I just did." I said. Meg seemed confused. "Never mind, Meg. I'm going to bed. Good night."

Without another word, I raced up to my room and buried myself beneath the sheets. I prayed, and prayed, and prayed, that what I saw was just my imagination.

[-]

**A/N:** This is basically an entrance-Raoul chapter, but nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed it!


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